


Sensitivity

by Vrochi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail DOES NOT die, Author Writes Half Asleep So Be Warned, Bottom Will Graham, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, F/F, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Jack Is An Ass But Bella Makes Up For It, M/M, Soft!Will, They Are Going To Be A Happy Gay Family, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28304718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrochi/pseuds/Vrochi
Summary: Will's sensitive to touch, only he never knows where. His therapist, however, takes great pleasure in finding out.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 105





	Sensitivity

Specks of snow waltzed around a shivering brunet, trapping themselves in a heap of thick, dark curls. His gloved fingers hastily rose up to swipe away at stray strands. “Told Jack I hate being psychoanalyzed, and what does he do?” Will mumbled under his breath, the cool air fogging up with warmth as he pulled his coat around himself, trudging towards the double doors of Dr. Lecter’s office. “He gets me a damn professional to do exactly that.”

Knocking against the maplewood door, he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. It was laughable. He didn’t want to be here, so why did he come? Will’s grumble was cut short by the sound of knobs turning, metal latches clicking as the doors opened to let a gust of heat envelop Will’s frame. 

“Will, please do come in.” 

There it was, that baritone voice laced with a line of poise which bordered on pretentious. 

Hannibal stepped aside, opening the door further as his amber eyes studied the other. The snowflakes remained a stark contrast to the man’s brown locks. His cheeks tinged with a rosy flush from the chilling wind. “Could we do something strong today?” The shorter huffed, shrugging off his coat with the help of the doctor. He could do it by himself, but Hannibal insisted every time and Will got tired of trying to convince him.

“Of course, scotch or whiskey?” Whiskey, the doctor already knew as he slung the profiler’s coat over his arm, its wetness sinking into the fabric of his pressed sleeve. His gaze trailed to the black, leather gloves that covered Will’s hands. It didn’t seem like he’d be taking them off. Interesting. He’d taken them off before, usually right after the therapist rid him of the coat. Today, however, must’ve been different. 

The professor’s gloved fingers wove through his drenched curls, the snow finally having relented to the heat. “Whiskey, please.” It had been a field day, especially with Jack hounding him with a ‘request’ to take up a new case. The current one was already going to cost him nights of sleep. Hell, he was already running on four hours. And the whole… Hand situation wasn’t helping. He’d avoided touching things to a new level today. He couldn’t even handle his worn blanket that had been with him for years.

Crystal glasses were set onto a silver tray, one filled with two fingers of whiskey and another with scotch. “Do you feel cold, Will?” Hannibal inquired as he handed the man his glass, eyes once again scanning the black leather. “I can bring you a blanket if you’d like.” His curiosity was growing, even more so when the brunet flinched upon grabbing the glass. 

Will took a quick sip, the alcohol leaving a familiar burn at the back of his throat whilst he shook his head, forcing a tight lipped smile. “I’m okay,” he replied, subconsciously flexing his hand around the glass. He’d gripped it too hard. “Just a little spun up from work.”

Hannibal nodded, the corner of his lips lifting in the slightest smile as he moved his chair forward, closer to the liar. “I hear uncle Jack has been making greater requests,” a hint of mirth laced his tone, nodding towards the profiler’s hands. “Are gloves your method of comfort?” A finer aftershave would’ve suited him far better.

“You’re hilarious, Dr. Lecter.” Will kept himself from rolling his eyes, opting to give the therapist a pointed look instead. He didn’t know whether to tell the other about his… Sensitivity situation. After all, it was a bit ridiculous. 

He could feel the doctor’s eyes on him, patiently waiting for a truthful admission. The brunet felt like cowering in on himself, sitting down in the plush chair as Hannibal watched him intently. Much like a panther skirting around a rabbit. Merely playing with its food.

“Anything you tell me will be kept confidential. I am your friend.” The words smoothed over like silk, a deep rumble ricocheting each syllable as he leaned in, elbows taking purchase on his toned thighs. The rabbit was being cornered. Hannibal carefully held out his hand, palm facing up as he caught the profiler’s apprehensive gaze. “Do you not trust me, Will?”

His hands began to tremble, the gold liquid dancing haphazardly within the confines of its glass prison. “I-… “ The brunet breathed, desperately wanting to escape the pool of amber as he attempted to remain coherent. He didn’t even notice the glass of whiskey being slipped out of his hands until he heard the familiar clink of crystal meeting a silver tray. 

Hannibal hushed and tentatively moved to take a gloved hand into his, gingerly pressing into the softness of Will’s palm to feel the tendons giving in. “Does this hurt?” 

The action caught Will off guard, a shaky breath seeping passed his lips as he tried to steady himself. It was quickly deemed futile when the doctor’s thumb airily brushed across the curve of his knuckles, skin beginning to buzz underneath the warmth of the taller’s touch. He could pull his hand away- no, should. But there was something in the way Hannibal was holding onto him. Loose, yet firm. 

“They’re just a little sensitive today,” the brunet gave in with a grumble, shifting to move his hand away. He didn’t get far. Hannibal’s index finger circled around his slim wrist, inhibiting any further movement. With a faint tug at the brim of the glove, Hannibal asked one simple question; 

“May I?” 

The indication was clear, and Will felt like he’d fallen into a cage. So he nodded, albeit all the nerves screaming within him to shake his head. To say no. He didn’t. 

Two digits slid into the crevice of the glove, curling underneath the fitted leather as it gave way to Hannibal’s ministration, gliding off effortlessly to reveal the supple skin hiding beneath; fading calluses with scrapes here and there. A sharp inhale invited the therapist’s attention, concern knitting his brows.

“S-sorry, didn’t realize how cold it’d be…” 

The nervous laugh that followed Will’s sentence brought a smile to Hannibal’s visage, his hands now moving to cover the brunets, lips parting to blow warm air into his cooling palms. Will no longer needed to be out in the freezing chill of winter to have blood rush into his cheeks; blooming hues of scarlet now adorning the tops of his ears. 

He needed to get a grip.

“Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No? Sometimes? I don’t know… It varies.”

Trace remnants of Hannibal’s focus lingered on the pair of hands in front of him, nodding in affirmation. “Your hands were sensitive all day, I presume?” His tone was clinical- observant. Will could smell the faintness of lavender spritzed on the doctor’s velvet suit, having cut the proximity between the two. He didn’t know when he’d leaned in. Or when he’d reached up to cup the man’s face into his palms, unfamiliar heat leaking into the contact. 

The pads of his fingertips sunk into the freshly shaved skin, reveling in the smoothness of it all. The feeling was pleasant, comforting unlike the many things which had the foul fate of running across his fingers today. He’d somehow managed to grip the steering wheel of his car, ignoring the overwhelming sensation that prickled along his skin. It was heavily more annoying than when his neck had succumbed to the ill fate last week. 

“I hate it. Almost everything makes my skin crawl.”

“But not me?”

Will paused, suddenly more aware of the doctor’s presence. “No, not you.” He answered with a whisper, precariously sliding his hands up along the sharpness of Hannibal’s jaw, thumbs slowly trailing along the sculpted cheekbones. “Maybe the whiskey helped.” The whiskey hadn’t and Will knew that. 

“Maybe it did. Tell me, is it so terrible to allow yourself comfort?”

Comfort. Will was out of his seat in the next few seconds, stepping away from the taller as fast as he could. 

“You’re not my comfort, Hannibal.”

His mind was reeling, just barely stopping himself from carding his fingers into matted locks. The last thing he needed was to tense up further. Hannibal wasn’t his comfort. No, it was his dogs or-

“I never said it was me, Will.” Hannibal mused, Italian heels clicking against the hardwood floor. He picked up the cotton towel set aside on his desk and made his way towards the finicky brunet, clicking his tongue once before draping the microfiber cloth over Will’s head. “Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” 

Will guffawed, “I can take care of myself,” and made no efforts to do such.

Thus, Hannibal found himself cradling the shorter’s head, massaging the towel into the dripping curls. It was painful to see how much Will neglected himself. Though it eased him to know that in time, it’d no longer be a concern. “What else are you able to touch, Mr. Graham?”

Will glared, placing his hands against the doctor’s broad chest in preparation to push him away. But he didn’t. The velvety fabric of Hannibal’s suit had caught him in a crossfire; distracted by the way it sunk into his pads. “Refer me to another therapist, “ he groaned, forehead hitting Hannibal’s silk tie as he slumped forward, putting all his weight on the other. “The current one is giving me more issues than I came with.”

Hannibal laughed, a soothing vibration reverberating within his chest as he coiled an arm around the shorter’s waist, holding him snug against himself. He couldn’t help but notice the aroma of vanilla that clung to Will’s hair, undertones of fine sandalwood making its presence in the smallest of wafts. Hannibal hummed in approval, pride unfurling in the depths of his mind as he once again took the profiler’s hand into his, “I’m afraid the request will need to be delayed,” salacious lips found themselves pressed along the thin flesh of Will’s wrist, eliciting a gasp. “You’ll be snowed in with said therapist in the meantime.”

“I’m telling Jack your practice is unethical.”

“Did you see the congratulatory fruit basket Bella sent us?”

“You should really retire.”

“As should the makers of your aftershave.”

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing is basically going to be chapters of Hannibal taking care of his brat. In a way that, you know, doesn't involve the stabby-stabby... :D Do leave questions, comments, and concerns! I'll do my best to reply to them all.


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